


Record of Fantasystuck

by Pizzasmoke



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pizzasmoke/pseuds/Pizzasmoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imperial trolls and Noble humans wage an ever worsening war against one another for land and power. But not all is lost, through a strange turn of events, there may be a hope for peace between the two races.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Campfires and Funeral Pyres

 

Smoke billowed from hundreds of campfires and funeral pyres, pluming upward into the gray, overcast sky. The sun hide it's face behind an endless procession of dark clouds. Pavilions with painted shields hung above their doors dotted the valley while countless men at arms milled about the camp in chainmail and half armor. Squires ran to a fro, tending to horses and running in and out of tents carrying swords and flagons of ale. Far away in the distance, the steady sound of hammers and saws rang out as men worked on the massive oaken catapults at the edge of the camp. Somewhere, amidst the activity and shouting and burning, a sad tune was being played on a seven-stringed harp.

John sat atop his mare overlooking it all from the small hill on which his own massive pavilion sat. His banner flapped and snapped whenever a small gust of wind blew against it, it bore the sigil of house Egbert, a frighting green ghost haunting a sky blue field. He looked every bit the lord today, wearing his immaculate azure armor, inlaid with dark green trim and complete with long flowing cloak cinched to him with golden chain and facets. His gilded war hammer hung at his side. Though he did not feel like the lord he was, against his better judgment and at the behest of his trusted knights, he had not taken the field in the day's battle. Men died today, _his_ men, and he had not even taken up the sword in their defense. His splendid armor felt heavier than ever and he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, looking out at the tiny orange dots in the camps, counting the funerals. The wind whipped against his face and sent a cold chill down his spine. _Too many,_ he thought _too many pointless deaths._

The sound of hooves fast approaching broke his concentration, and caused him to turn. Sir Dave Strider reined up next to him, his stallion huffing and puffing from the fast ride. Unlike John, Dave had been at the battle, but you would not be able to tell from the look of him. His reddish, steel armor was little worse for the wear with only minor notches and dents and his dark visored helm seemed nearly untouched. Though the crimson banner that flew behind him was torn nearly to shreds and his horse seemed to have been run ragged. The only part of his person that seemed affected was his golden blonde hair, which had collected a few small twigs and splotches of mud. Still, Sir strider wore his face of stone, unchanging and giving nothing away. 

“What's the damage?” John asked turning back to count the fires, his voice uneasy.

“The front line defenses were ripped apart, and the vanguard took the brunt of the blow. Only little more than half remain alive. But the whole of the attacking party was destroyed, My lord.” Dave did not even sound tired, but John had known him long enough to pick up the subtle changes in his voice.

“Please sir Strider, call me John, not my lord. We have been together too long for formalities.”

“Does  _my lord_ command it?” Dave said in a mocking tone. 

“Your  _friend_ commands it.” John joked back. 

“Well then John, as your friend I would ask you just call me Dave, not Sir Strider.” Suddenly, Dave's face took up it's unyielding visage all at once as he looked out at the camp “ _Sir_ Strider is my brother.” 

The Striders had been house Egbert's banner men since before either John or Dave were born. Back north, in the heart of the human territories, Dave and John grew up together. Had learned to fight together and when the banners were called, they rode to war together. They were friends, brothers in arms, called to hold the enemy back and protect the homeland as best they could. John trusted him above all else and knew his council should be heeded, but still he had trouble sitting back while his friend went to fight, while John sat unmolested in his shiny new armor. Even now, John knew somewhere his lord father was in the middle of some great strife, with the legendary Sir Dirk Strider beside him, cutting their way south while John and Dave sat in this valley enduring whatever the enemy threw at them.

The war with the trolls had begun only a few moon's turns ago, but from the start it had been a blood bath. The long standing treaty between the two species had always been tentative at best, so when some human lord and some highblooded troll both claimed the same land, it had quickly spiraled out of control until the human lords of the north called for war and the noble trolls of the south marched to claim the lands they said to be rightfully theirs to begin with. The port and harbor cities were the first to go. The trolls owned the sea and had little trouble wiping out the Human Royal Navy with almost no bloodshed on their side. John remembered his father saying the trolls would never be beaten in the water “Those who don't breath the sea like a fish, sail like pirates.” John suspected that was the reason his father had sent him here to hold the southern most holdings, instead of east to the coast were in truth he was most needed.

“Why?” John blurted out with out thinking “Why send so many of their own men to die just to fight the vanguard?”

Dave gave a shrug “Who knows how these horn headed barbarians think.”

“Who commands this host? Anyone I know?”

Dave shifted in his saddle seat “You won't like it.”

John looked at him puzzled “Who?”

“Commander Vantas”

Dave was right, he didn't like it. Suddenly the idea of sending men to bleed made a whole lot more since, considering where the command had come from. Commander Karkat Vantas, John had gone up against him once or twice before and each time had been an unnecessary massacre, losing men in the hundreds to bloody battle. And each time John had sworn to find Vantas in the battle field and kill him, but their swords (or hammer and sickle in this case) had yet to cross paths. Egbert wished he could say he hated this commander, but his father had always taught him that a good lord does not hate his enemies but respects him, but John had a tough time with even that much. How could you respect a person,  _no not a person_ , a horn headed monster, that sent men to their deaths with out so much as a pause? If there was a strategy to what Vantas did, John could not see it. To him, all that this Karkat wanted was to watch any number of humans die regardless of the cost to his own men. He had no strategy, no cunning, no real plan, just waves upon waves of frontal assaults. These gory tactics had earned him the nickname “the Knight of Blood”, a name John thought macabre if not appropriate. 

“I will meet him in battle this time Dave.” John promised as he dismounted and gestured for Dave to do the same. “He will not escape me a third time, of that you can be sure.”

“You may get your chance sooner than you think,” Dave said dismounting “our scouts tell me that the knight of blood will more likely than not, attack at evening fall.”

“Excellent! Together me and you shall put and end to this invading horde once and for all!” John smiled a big optimistic smile, almost like he believed what he said.

“Yes,” Dave gave the slightest of smirks “And then you can return to your estate and marry the lovely Lady Lalonde.”

John's face went bright red and he strode off to the pavilion as if to escape the matter “The...the war will not be over so quickly! I'm sure Rose would rather, uh, postpone the marriage until the fighting is done. Besides she is all the way out west, safe and sound amongst the flowered keep. We would have to wait for her to journey back north.”

John's engagement to Rose had been set up by his lord father and her lady mother before the war had broken out. Rose Lalonde had been a friend of John and Dave's since they were just children, playing along side them in the vast human territories and estates. Her lady mother visited house Egbert often and spent a significant amount of time dinning with them in their hall, so Rose and John had developed a relationship of sorts. Still, the idea of marrying her was strange, hell, the idea of marrying anyone was strange. John wished he had gotten the chance to speak with her before she had been sent off west for “her own protection.” She had hated that, she had said as much the last time they spoke. From what John could gather, she wanted to be doing something, fighting or planing war strategies or anything, not hiding in the flowered keep sunbathing and knitting and reading books with all the other highborn girls. Though John often misread what she wanted, damn if the girl wasn't just as aloof as Strider at times.

“What about you?” Young Lord Egbert asked his companion as they entered the pavilion “Don't think I hadn't noticed you talking with Miss Harley before we rode off. Did she give you a favor to wear? Say a prayer or cast a spell then kissed you lightly on the cheek for luck? Or perhaps she gave you another crown of flowers to wear about your head ” John snickered at his own joke.

If the jape had gotten to Dave, he made no sign of it “We were merely discussing battle plans.” He said plainly “She is to go east to the coasts, along with other witches, to help the armies hold back the tide of the invading horde. Those sea-dwellers may have gotten the best of the navy, but they will not march on the east, she promised me as much.”

Jade Harley had been another friend they left behind. A strange girl of a lesser house, she had always been cheerful and pleasant. John had enjoyed her company as well as Rose and Dave. Her bright disposition seemed to balance out the general cynicism and sarcasm of Dave and Rose. Plus she was the only one who laughed at John's jokes. Her and Dave got along espically well and spent more time together than even John and rose. They spent a lot of time in the garden together, Jade seemed to like the garden, with all of the different vibrant colored flowers and strange plants. Once, Rose and John spied on the other two, and saw Jade place a deftly made crown of flowers atop Dave's head and crowned him “King of Blossoms” and they had never let him live that down. She was a witch born, though not like one in the stories that his dad used to tell him, the ones that turned bad little highborn boys into frogs. She didn't cast very many spells at all in fact, or if she did John never knew about it. She never went to a proper training camp like most magic users, but that did not stop her from joining the royal armies when the war broke out. And now the kindest person John had ever met was heading to worst part of the war. _This world is cruel._

The inside of the pavilion was spacious and warm. A large fire pit sat in the middle burning at full force, tongues of flame snaked upward and bathed the whole structure in a strange orange glow. A long wooden bench sat in front of the fire pit, along with several cushioned chairs. On the far side was John's canopied bed, a small thing in comparison to the massive goose-down mattress at the estate, but it served well enough for a battlefield and John was grateful to have a bed whilst most of his men slept on the wet grass. _Would if I could give them all nice warm beds._ A table occupied the right most canvas wall, strewn with maps, loose papers, and various letters from this lord or that concerning this battle or that patch of land or whatever else people seemed important enough to write him about. No letters from Rose though, but he supposed she had little to write about locked away in the west. Dave took a seat on the bench and John joined him, warming himself by the fire.

“Any word from your brother?” John asked causally, trying his best to get comfortable while still in heavy armor.

“No. But that is noting new. If he had reason to write he would. I can only assume he and your father are doing well enough considering we have yet to be informed of their deaths.”

John wasn't sure how to take that “Yes...well...truth be told my father writes when he can, but it's not much. They are making their way south and will meet with the bulk of the troll army the closer they get to the capital.”

“Damn gray skinned trolls.” Dave cursed as he ran a gloved hand through his matted blonde hair. “They should have kept south were they belong. All they know is blood and war though, so I guess it was only a matter of time before they marched on us.”

“We'll beat them back.” John said with a smile “You'll see, a year from now we'll be back north celebrating our victory over a pint of ale and fine western wine and we'll wax poetic about this war.” he turned to his knight “Maybe you and your brother could write a song about it, you're fond of songs.”

“I haven't been much in the singing mood as of late. But perhaps your right.” Dave starred into the fire, the light reflecting off his skin and brought attention the the small cuts and patches of dirt.

“Dave, why is this commander, this Karkat Vantas, so quick to throw his men away in bloody battle? It seems like every time he takes the field, her launches a full frontal assault against what he has to know to be a larger more fortified force. ” John said, more thinking aloud than actually putting the question to him

“Well either he is not simply throwing his men away, but rather testing our strength and resolve. Checking for a weakness in the hopes of exploiting it. Or...”

“Or?”

“Or he is simply a piss-poor commander. Personally I think it's the latter.”

John had to laugh at that and even Dave gave a small grin. “I guess it is as you said,” John manged through laughter “Who knows how they think.”

In truth John had known little of the trolls before the war. Only tales told by singers and handmaids of the frightening race of horned, gray skinned monster, with sharp teeth and unnatural strength. And when he asked his father about them, the older lord Egbert merely shook his head and told him it was not polite to speak of such things. He was learning more of them now that he was set against them. John had always thought the tales of their odd blood color had been just another tale to scare small children, but on his first battle, when he had smashed an enemy with his great hammer, he had been shocked to see that the blood that drenched his weapon had not been crimson, but a strange orange color, like old rusted metal. As time went on, he had seen hues of blue and green and yellow strewn about the field and pooling under the bodies of fallen foes. Their culture remained a mystery though, men would talk of their odd romances and how it was common place for their men to lay with other men, or for their women to be together. And that some even drank and ate the blood of their own kind. The more he learned, the more he realized that he knew almost nothing. When John had asked Dave about them, he had told him that all John need know is that they fight like beasts and are as cruel as they are ugly. But John guessed all any human knew of trolls was war, he had never spoken to one, nor had he ever heard of any lord being friendly with one. A strange people from a strange land.

The fire pit crackled and popped sending tiny bits of ember dancing into the air. Outside, the wind blew stronger, shaking the canvas walls of the pavilion. A strange calm came over John as he watched the flames twirl and dance. He was back home, in the north, at his father's estate with Dave and Rose and Jade. Laughing and playing in the courtyard, swinging wooden swords and building ice knights in the snow. He was back with his father, listening to all his lordly advice as they dined in the warm stone hall. Their was no war. No trolls. No death or blood or commander Karkat. Only his friends, and his father, and home.

His daydream shattered as a low rumbling noise filled the air. Far off in the distance, but drawing ever closer. Then the great bellow of a horn rang out, long, deep, and loud. John jumped to his feet, clutching the hammer at his side. Dave was with him, both listening to an eerie silence, until again the horn bellowed it's call once more. Dave shot him a solemn look, and John knew what it was, or rather, _who_ it was. The two rushed outside to their waiting steads, leaving the warmth of the fire pit behind. Outside, wind whirled about them and a great clamor arouse from the camp. In the distance beyond the camp, John saw the tiny orange dots moving ever closer, like a cloud of fire bugs playing across the field. John saddled his mare put the reins to it galloping down the hill, Dave following close behind. In the camp men rushed about grabbing their swords and shields, mounting their horses and following John to the front lines. The blue banner of house Egbert flapped furiously behind him, shouting arose as he rode past his men quickly prepared for battle. They called out battle cries like “House Egbert!” or “The young ghost!” and even “For the realm of men!”

Soon John had a great host at his back, thousands of mounted knights, foot soldiers, and young squires who looked scarred half to death. They rode to wear the oaken catapults stood, men filling their baskets full of heavy boulders or burning jars of pitch. Again the horn blew, long, deep, and loud. Across the wind swept valley, under the the gray colored sky, John saw it, a great horde clad in ebony armor riding toward them, carrying torches and spears and swords. Grotesque yellow and orange horns of all shapes and sizes jutting up from their helms. They bellowed and shouted as loud and incoherently as John's own men. Somewhere a war drum beat steadily, announcing their advancement. Soon the two armies were only a hundred or so yards apart from each other. John took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and slow his heart as it beat uncontrollably. He took his war-hammer in hand and raised it high above his head for all to see. And with the a great, roaring shout, called the charge. _If Vantas wants a fight, then I'll bloody well give him one._

 


	2. Knight of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Karkat Vantas prepares for his his final push against the forces of this "Wiggler Lord".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick warning: Lots of Troll jargon in this one.

 

Commander Vantas Stood bold and proud amongst the grass of the battlefield as he watched the first wave of his men savagely charge out to meet the human host. The thunder of their footsteps ringing out like some great war song. The sky grew darker, the clouds racing before them until what little sun was left in the day was blotted out and the fires from their torches became the only light on the field. The rest of his force stood ready behind him, blades in hand, shouting for blood, human blood. All strong, young trolls, eger to test their merit against the the uncultured human menace. They were his army, strong and without mercy. They would take no prisoners today, any fleshy pink human that dared to stand in their way would soon be a messy red pulp upon the green of the grass. It was heartening to see so many ready to die fighting for their glorious empire.

Karkat however, had no intention to die. In fact, he thought it rather idiotic to die for the empire. To him, it seemed like a much better idea to _kill_ for it. And that's just what he intended to do. This would be the day. The day he smashed this green ghost once and for good, and left this young human lord in a bloody heap. Vantas had already suffered two defeats at his hand, and he did not mean to suffer a third. After this, there would be nothing stopping him and his trolls from marching north to strike at the heart of the human territories. A feat that not even the best of the empire's generals had been able to accomplish. _When I have the human's begging me for mercy,_ Karkat thought with morbid glee _When I do that, then we'll see just who is most fit to lead._

It felt good to wear his armor once more. He had spent too long planning this attack, and now he was more than ready to actually fight. His brown and crimson armor was light and spacious, providing protection where he needed it most but also leaving him enough room to move about as he pleased. His rust-brown cloak snapped in the wind behind him like a pair of great wings. The twin sickles at his sides were freshly sharpened, beautiful and deadly, their edge gleaming in the torchlight. Karkat couldn't wait to use them once more. His own banner flew proudly at his side, his personal sign stitched in gray on a crimson field.

The sound of battle soon filled the air, shouts and screams mixed with steel meeting steel. The humans were no doubt shitting in the small clothes by now, having to face a horde of his trolls who were out for blood. The thought of it made him smile. For days he had been stuck here, set against some human wiggler lord. He was done with it. It had only been because of his performance in some of the earlier battles of the war that he had been given a command at all. And even then, the highbloods had sent him out here to this fucking forsaken no man's land, far away from the real fighting, to try to break apart this rabble. But he meant to change that, if he could make the human's break their ranks and he was able to advance into human territories, then there would be no denying his command abilities. They would have to give him a higher rank and station, blood color or no.

“Commander!” he heard a high, sweet voice call out, snapping him back to the present moment. “Commander Vantas!”

It was his First lieutenant,Nepeta Leijon, riding in from the front lines on the back of her massive feline lusus. The Creature's snow white mane blowing in the breeze, it's horrifying dual maw pulled back to bear it's fangs. Leijon looked absolutely ferocious in her pseudo-tribal fur and leather armor. Painted in greens and blues and adorned with the bones of animals and fallen enemies alike. Her arms were already caked with crimson blood from her elbows down to the clawed weapons strapped to her hands.

“You have a report?” Karkat asked curtly, in no mood for whatever nonsense she was sure to spout.

“Yes!” she said leaping off her mount, in an out-of-place upbeat tone “The furst wave has meet with the human host and is paws-itively slaughtering what's left of their front lines.”

Vantas gave a cocky, throaty laugh. “Good! We'll wait a bit to thin out the weaklings, then we'll charge in and finish off the rest.”

First Lieutenant Leijon cocked her head in confusion “Is that wise? Won't good deal of our men die if we don't go soon enough?”

“I told you before, Leijon, humans are a bunch of fucking weaklings! Kill enough of them and they'll loose the will to fight. Just you wait, they'll break ranks before they can do any real damage.”

Nepeta seemed unconvinced. “If you say so, commander.” She shrugged.

Of all the trolls Karkat knew, he would have never guessed Nepeta Leijon would be his second in command. They had been friends, of sorts, in their youth. Growing up in the capital city of the empire, they ran with the same crowds, knew the same trolls. But Nepeta had always seemed like she was on her way up, climbing the social ladder with little to no hindrances. She had no real enemies, no one who would have delighted in killing her in the street for sport. Her family was of decent standing, and rumor had it that she had become moirails with a blue blood. Even when the war had been announced, and all their friends had been called to arms, Nepeta seemed unworried about where she might end up in the campaign. With her skill and connections she could have gotten a post anywhere she wished.

But when Karkat had sent letters back home for the front lines, bragging to his friends of his promotion to commander, he had been surprised to receive a letter back from her. A formal imperial military request assigning her to his regiment, signed and approved by one Imperial Captain Zahhak (Possibly a member of the Archeradicators, though the letter never specified which branch exactly). Not days later, there she was. Excited to serve under his command and ready to rip apart some human flesh. It was strange, but Vantas thought it better not to look a gift Lusus in the mouth. She was unnaturally chipper, and her cat puns bordered on manic, but he couldn't argue with her skill and speed. Nepeta had proven to be twice as ferocious as the great dual mouthed Lusus she rode into battle. The enemy's blades didn't even touch her, and she could tear through armor and flesh in a single stroke.

Even from where they were standing, Karkat could see the humans scramble in terror. He would be an idiot if he tried to deny that this particular host hadn't given him trouble, but that was about to change. He had weaken them, both mentally and physically. Humans just didn't have the strength and stamina that trolls did, they couldn't withstand wave after merciless wave of bloody battle. And watching all their comrades die day after day _not_ to advance a march but to hold a line that was surly breaking anyway, well, the weak fleshy blood sacks of a human could only take so much (or so Vantas had been told). They were an easier enemy to deal with now. He had lost a few battles and even more men, but it would be worth it when he brought the head of this little lord back to the capital for all to see. _Let's see those high blood fucks make jest when I ride back victorious._

If he was being truthful with himself (something commander Vantas was not very akin to), Karkat knew no more about humans or how they think better than anyone else in the empire. In fact, he had never even seen a human before the war. It was not a subject taught in schools, or discussed amongst trolls in general. Humans were just strange aliens, odd neighbors to the north that were better left alone. From what he had seen, and the very little he had heard, Humans were a soft, impractical race of pink fleshed social creatures. Their culture and customs were so foreign and difficult to understand, that no troll in their right think pan would devote any amount of time to figuring them out. Even this war was a mystery to him (again, if he was being truthful). All he knew was that their had been some dispute over land, blades had been crossed, and now they were to eradicate or enslave the humans for the glory of their empire. Not that it mattered to him. There was no chance for advancement of station for lowbloods during peace time. All the more reason why when some one said that they were at war, few stepped up to argue.

Karkat hadn't been as fortunate as some of his other friends when it came to military assignments, however. Most of his friends were either on the front lines or back in the capital working for the war effort. Leaving him to fight over this little patch of green that was just mere miles away from the real fighting. The Imperial Navy, along with the sea dwelling fleet, had already won major victories over the humans. And from what Karkat heard through the little mail he received, the land battles weren't going any worse. His insufferable friends were already loitering those triumphs over his head. Vantas fingered the sickles at his side anxiously. If he couldn't break this host here, and win a name for himself, there was no way he could return home. He would be mocked for years to come, he would be stripped of his command, and his dreams of joining the elite ranks of the Threshecutioners would be dead forever.

Ahead, Karkat saw the wall of men and carnage part with a blaring clash. The battle between the two armies had held in normal fashion until now. His trolls cutting a bloody chunk out of the human host. But to his dismay, Commander Vantas saw that the humans were not retreating or breaking ranks, they were advancing. The humans had somehow pushed through his first wave and were now fighting their way to were he and the rest of his army waited. _How? How could these broken and beaten fuckers actually be fighting back?_ As if to answer his question, a mighty roar of bravery rose up from the battlefield and Karkat could see the gleam of great green warhammer flash in the distance. A blue and emerald banner flapping proudly above the heads of his fallen as the march continued over the fields and through his soldiers.

“That fucking wiggler lord is actually coming into battle?” Karkat scoffed disdainfully “ And here I thought he would hide his face in shame.”

Nepeta ran to his side “Commander?” she asked seriously, her whole body tensing at the sight of the fast approaching human host looking ready to pounce. “What are your orders?”

Vantas couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all “What are my orders?” He chuckled boastfully from deep in his gut “Simple, Leijon. We kill ever last one of these stupid bastards!”

Somehow this idea calmed the smaller troll girl, even delighted her “Of course!” She agreed in a manner that was way too chipper “Slaughter everfurry one of them!”

Vantas unsheathed his sickles, holding tight to their leather grips, feeling the weight of them in his hands. They felt good, light, ready to sink deep into the skin of his enemies. His chest began to rise and fall rapidly as he breathed in fast, excited breaths of the stormy air. From behind him, Vantas heard the chattering of his army, shifting uncomfortably as the humans marched closer and closer breaking through the troll ranks.

Karkat spun on his heels to face his men, holding one sickle high in the air above his banner “Listen up, bulge stains!” he shouted over the clatter “This is it, this is night it ends ! This is where we show this soft-bellied what trolls are made of! This is where we paint the field crimson with their blood! This is where you make your long dead ancestors proud that you bare their mark! This puny human horde dies tonight, with nothing but fear and regret in their hearts! Show these filthy, overgrown wigglers the glory and power of the mighty Alternian Empire!”

The trolls facing him bellowed out loud, guttural cheers that shook the very autumn air. They held their weapons aloft in triumph and blood lust, letting the torches play across their many different blades as they rattled. Some even loosed arrows and bolts into the sky at high arcs, letting the marks fall onto or around the concentration of the human horde marching toward them. All this to Karkat's amusement and satisfaction.

Without instruction or hesitation, Nepeta saddled up upon her lusus and ran down the line of trolls roaring her thunderous lion's roar from deep in her chitinous windhole. “FIRST RANK ON ME! WE CHARGE INTO THE HEART OF THEIR MARCH! CRY HAVOK, AND LET LOOSE THE CATS OF WAR!”

Another bout of cheers and thunders from the trolls, their multicolored blood running hot with battle fever now. Leijon shot him a look, sort of a sideways half-grin, she knew it was he that called for the charge. No matter how ready she was or if he was even going to be in the first wave, he _always_ called the charge.

Vantas took a deep breath before screaming “CHARGE!!” Pointing his sickle into the thickest part of the oncoming human host. As the men ran past him in a surging wave he added “KILL WHO EVER YOU LIKE, BUT THE WIGGLER LORD IS MINE!”

Before he realized he was even doing it, Commander Karkat Vantas was running full steam along side his men, chasing the white blur that was his second in command. The cool breeze felt good on his face, and the earsplitting sound of a thousand trolls boots racing across the field to lay waste to men was sweeter than the sweetest music he had ever heard. This was what he was breed to do, what he was _meant_ to do. Ahead, the bodies of the human host grew ever closer, and again Karkat spotted the emerald and sapphire of the Lord's banner. Even from here, he could watch the human's faces, once so full of bravery and vigor, drain to a pale white at the sight of his bloodthirsty army. That was good, Let the human's march on them and know just what army they are facing, let them see the multitude horns race forward to meet them. Let any of those who managed to crawl away from this battle with their life tell of the horrors they witnessed on this day.

He was Karkat-fucking-Vantas, and he was going to show these humans just why they called him “The Knight of Blood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so i can not apologize enough for how long this took to post. honestly this has been done for a while but I've had personal problems and wasn't able to get to posting this. I know after such a wait it this chapter must seem short but i promise the next one is a lot longer and coming much faster. Thank you again for reading and I apologize once more.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an idea i had for a sort of Fantasystuck AU sort of thing. I have a few chapters laid out so far but im not sure how many chapters this might end up being. but i hope you like it and all that and thanks for reading.


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